Musician

Yes, you concerned readers, I’m still playing my baritone saxophone. I’m taking lessons every two weeks via Skype. No travel time! I’ve upped my playing to 4-6 hours a week. More structured, too: scales, chords, simple rhythms. I still lose my place improvising, a lot. But I’m less in my head, thank you very much, what a relief. I’m paying more attention to my sound. I love the sound of the bottom (the bari sax is very low). I’ve changed my mouthpiece and reeds.

Devoting time to self-care – pretty fascinating in its own right. A stock question when I talk with people: what do you do for fun? Quite fascinating, try it. Knitting, dancing, jogging, singing, grandkids, soccer, hiking, needlepoint, painting, riding horses, writing, yoga, traveling. My ability to predict what a person does for fun is marginally better than my Lotto predictions. Some say I don’t have time for fun. Or, I’m ready to retire, don’t know what I’ll do. This makes me sad. Very sad. Read More

I’m ready to quit playing my horn. I can’t seem to bring what I’ve learned while playing at home (practicing) to rehearsals. I’m lost. I have fat fingers. I can’t find a 2 or 4 measure rhythmic pattern that works. I lose my place. I can’t seem to learn the language. I definitely I don’t have the muscle memory yet. It’s disheartening. I’m used to being good at what I do. I was a great bedside nurse. I was a really good boss. I’m a prolific and engaging writer. I’m sought after for my patient/caregiver activism. Music, not so much. I’m persistent, not talented. I’m humbled, playing music. Part of the secret sauce to managing my Multiple Sclerosis, is that I keep manageable stress to a minimum. Being a boss and employee was too stressful, so I stopped. I don’t have secrets. My close relationships are fresh and up-to-date. I adapt well to my slow reduction in function. Playing is stressing me out. Wait, I haven’t had a sax lesson in months. My teacher is very good. Positive and creative with my fluctuating abilities. Tells me to play less. I didn’t stay at the top of my game in my 40+ year career without coaching and mentoring. It wasn’t possible. I play for a reason. It’s one of two outcomes I track with my doctors (falling and playing the saxophone).

I’ve told my teams over the years, if we don’t fail several times a week we’re not pushing the envelope and not doing our jobs. We weren’t tightrope walkers, pushing IV meds, or manufacturing artificial joints. We were innovators, learners, and leaders. Failure as a virtue is a hard sell – to almost anyone. My teams, my colleagues in leadership, editorial review boards always start by thinking I’m crazy. Sometimes they eventually get it, sometimes not. Leadership usually wants to get A’s. In one health system I worked for, I reported that we successfully completed medication reconciliation in 40% of admissions. OMG, that’s awful! They said. No, I said, that’s great! We’re failing. Let’s succeed. In 18 months we completed medication reconciliation 70% of the time. It’s a lot harder to go from 70% to 80% than 40% to 70%. In research, we don’t publish when the study doesn’t prove the hypothesis. Yet, not proving is as important, if not more important, than proving. I was on an Editorial Review Board once that decided to solicit articles where the hypothesis wasn’t proven and something was learned. Over a 10-year span, we solicited exactly 0 such articles. Zero!

A definition of failure to some is the opposite of success. Not necessarily. Especially when it comes to learning and getting healthier. We don’t tell kids they fail when they fall learning to walk. They keep trying. Same with learning to talk. As an adult, I find failure a motivator to try again. As a thinker and a catalyst for change, I’m delighted when I succeed with 30% of what I try. It’s been the rare boss that’s accepted that. They’ve been the best bosses and we’ve done the best work together in my career.

For health, embrace failure. I did eye exercises twice a day for 8 months before my brain rewired and my crippling double vision cleared 80%. That’s 360 failures and one success! It’s taken years of trial and error to land on a balance, stretching, and strengthening routine that works for me. I stumble a lot, fall infrequently, and sustain only minor injuries when I do. I get frustrated when I see failure and stuck in the muck. Fail and try something else, that’s the ticket.

Failure flavors humility and empathy. My best stories are of failure – my failures. People laugh with me. We can all relate to failure. It’s the warp of our lives. Hearing about a failure, we naturally ask, and then? What happened next? What did you learn? What did you try? What eventually worked?

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Who knew he loved penny whistles? The pianist who accompanied his cello-playing friend on piano for years told a story yesterday at his funeral. At Christmas last year, this father who I knew as awkward, serious, unemotional, religious, conservative, classical music-loving, got the church choir penny whistles and led them in a performance of Good King Wenceslaus. While the story was told, the priest pulled a penny whistle out from the pulpit and tweeted a few notes. “It’s there to keep me humble.”

I consider myself a good read of people. 50-75% of the time I’m spot on (That’s 25-50% spot off). It leads me to an occasional empathy-challenged state. A penny whistle can tip the balance.

Happy Father’s Day all you fathers. I love the father in my sons. Here’s to you, Cliff, a faithful reader of this blog. You’ll be missed!

OMG, I’m upgrading my website. I started the blog almost 5 years ago setting up the website with help from my friends Eric and Jodi (this is my 305th post). Now I want more from the website. I’m adding two pages: Portfolio to share my articles, guest posts, interviews, and projects. How Can I Help You? For topics we care about and related resources. I’m determined to create it myself – much like my wife and I built a house – seriously ignorant, reading instructions, tutoring, advice, and making significant mistakes while putting one foot in front of the other persistently. Learning something completely new is a frustrating gas. Frustrating until you learn a bare minimum of the language, get the right tools, building a support team, and finding the growing mindset of I can do this!? Frustrating when you mess up big time – like a couple of days ago when I unknowingly loaded 13 sample posts with my new theme and they went out to all of you looking like spam. (Thanks for letting me know and hanging in there with me.) A gas when you stumble upon or are pointed toward a solution, when you can find the solution a second time, when you can start to see the creation, and when someone else appreciates it. Gosh, this sounds like living or supporting someone with a chronic illness, living in another country or community, playing music, going to school, or starting a new job.Read More

Pound for pound, the best health conference! A rare combination of small, local, action-oriented, inspiring networking, and relaxing. 40-50 attendees met in Grantsville, Garrett County, MD, population 766, for three days. Regina Holliday of Walking Gallery fame organizes and breathes life into Cinderblocks. The older I get, the more I seek people who collaborate to solve local problems that matter to them. 50% of the 30 presentations were literally local – from Garrett County and immediate vicinity. The rest came from as far as France and LA, Oklahoma, Texas, Boston, and DC to learn what works for each other. A sample:Read More

My Note to Myself: Continue to do what I’m doing. Appreciate the small stuff (fresh running water, regular garbage pickup). Appreciate living within our means. Appreciate the warm rocks of my honey and my family. Appreciate my empathetic and skilled health team. Stick to my health and safety routine every day. Mentor bright young minds. Have fun when collaborating to do good work.

Three words: Balance. Caregivers. Onward.

Balance – Family, exercise, music, work. In that order

Caregivers – I do the work I do for caregivers – Honor the caregivers, help the helpers. We couldn’t exist without them.

Onward – Moving stuff an inch that has 10 miles to go, requires one foot in front of the other.

Decisions, decisions, decisions. We face endless numbers of decisions during our health journeys. From the mundane, should I fast to lose weight? To the tedious, what statin should I take? To the heartbreak, should we do everything possible? Yesterday, after playing music, someone told us that he fasted to lose 20 pounds. How many weight loss discussions have we had in an endless number of settings. I can remember one time discussing it with my Primary Care doctor – no decision, no choice of action – just an observation that my weight had been steadily increasing over the years. My cholesterol is high, and my Dad died young of a heart attack (not from high cholesterol). I’ve taken six different statins. My Primary Care doc thinks the evidence is strong for me to take statins. We regularly change brand based on effects on my liver enzymes, cost, and insurance coverage. A friend’s elder mother had major heart surgery. The cardiac surgeon reported success, she’s doing great – the blockage was successfully removed. She’s still in a coma, intubated. She’s never had end-of-life conversations, no advanced directives. Her husband will want to do everything possible. No decisions lead to a decision. Read More

I’m thankful for my superpower that I shared with my mother, Ruth, and son, Mike – accepting what is.

I’m thankful that I was born a white straight male to a closeted gay dad, Ruben, and a Holocaust survivor, Ruth – I appreciate that I have first world problems and learned from them that I must act to better the world.

I’m thankful that my best friend is my life partner and care partner – I strive to be equal to her love.

I’m thankful for my extended family, characters all.

I’m thankful for a 40+ year career as a nurse – privileged to serving during people’s most vulnerable moments.

I’m thankful that I was invited to join my grandmother, mother, and son during their end-of-life journeys.

I’m thankful that my grown sons love the strong women they married, revel in fatherhood, and contribute to community well-being – they keep me honest.

I’m scared but not shocked. The level of disappointment so many people feel about their lives profoundly saddens me. I should have more. I would have more if it weren’t for others – all sorts of others. Feelings of injustice can power so much. I don’t pretend to understand all the righteousness, anger, and meanness that erupt when disappointment builds. But it feels as familiar as the human condition throughout the planet and over the ages. It’s like earthquakes from fracking. I’m thankful that my mother, a Holocaust survivor, is no longer alive. She would be apoplectic and inconsolable. What’s going to happen now? How should I act? As when grieving, I will mindfully minimize controllable stress – exercise, rest, listen to and play more music, spend more time with friends and family. I will continue to give thanks for all I have in my first world life. I will continue to pursue my passion for maximizing the experience of people at the center of care. I pray for the physical and spiritual strength to speak up, stand up, and act when the moments seems right. I’ll need strength to take the high road in this low road time. More than anything I’ll pray for unexpected open hearts. The community needs it. Our grandchildren need it. The unborn need it. Onward.